


Sweat, Glitter, Schoolwork

by mustang_eddie



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cassette Spoilers, Eventual Romance, Glam trash!Cecil, M/M, POV Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Punk Rock!Earl Harlan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustang_eddie/pseuds/mustang_eddie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos moves into  Night Vale just before his sophomore year of high school. Being the new kid is hard enough, but being the new kid that falls in love with resident party boy and walking disaster Cecil Palmer is even harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The best description I can give of this alternate universe is that it's as if Cecil Palmer was born in the late 90s, in Night Vale, and Carlos is the same age and moved in shortly after the events of Cassettes. 
> 
> Glam Trash Cecil and Punk Rock Earl Harlan are the creations of tumblr users punkrockgaia and videntefernandez. A huge thank you to them for such lovely muses. :) 
> 
> I'll let you guys know if there's any drinking/drugs/partying by chapters, but this one is really tame. Enjoy!

         First days weren’t fun for anyone, Carlos reminded himself. It was basic science; a subject placed into a new environment with alternate stimuli was likely to have their flight or fight instincts triggered. Then again, in every study he had looked up last night had been about lab mice placed in new mazes; none had been about teenage boys on the first day of sophomore year. At a new school. In a new town. He wiped his sweaty palms on his new shorts. At least his cousins had taken him to the mall before he moved halfway across the country. He thought he was decently dressed, at least until the office secretary introduced his student guide.

         “Marcus Vansten,” the guide said, rings on his hand glittering as he shook Carlos’ hand. “I’m a junior, I’ll be showing you around today. Nice shoes.”

         Carlos looked down, trying to figure out if he was being sarcastic. The shoes were new, but they clearly weren't even close in quality as compared to the Italian leather ones Marcus was wearing.

         “Um, thanks?” Carlos squeaked, cursing internally. “My name’s Carlos.”

         “Nice to meet you, Carlos. Need anything else from me, Diane?” Marcus asked the office secretary.

         “For the last time, it’s Mrs. Creighton. And you still have detention after school.”

         “Mmyeah, Diane. I was thinking about that, how about I pay a fine instead?” Mrs. Creighton glared. Marcus motioned for Carlos to follow him. Carlos did, nearly tripping in the process. They turned down the hall to find Carlos’ locker. Carlos was glad to see that not everyone was dressed in silk dress shirts and expensive skinny jeans. Most, in fact, looked like fairly normal high schoolers. Or, not normal, but statistically average, scientifically speaking. Carlos made a note to remove normal from his mental dictionary. A scientist always challenges what is considered normal. Well, maybe not always. High school seemed like a good place to be statistically average, at least.

         “Alright, Carlos buddy, you lucked out. Your locker is right by your first class, which is AP US History with Daniels. Any questions?” Marcus leaned against the locker by Carlos, checking his phone and looking thoroughly uninterested in whatever Carlos had to say. Carlos thought for a second. Technically, he didn't have any questions. He was surprised that the school had sent a guide at all, he was, after all, a sophomore in high school. But on the other hand, asking questions was scientifically proven to get people to talk to you. In most field studies he had made, anyway.

         “Um, what material are you earrings made out of? I noticed that they’re especially luminescent right now, and considering the complete lack of reflective light due to the poor quality of the fluorescent overhead lights paired with the scratched tile floor, I was just curious- as to…” Carlos cut himself off. Marcus was staring at him, eyes narrowed and mouth slightly opened, eyebrows furrowed. Carlos smacked himself internally. Science rambling was so not a good way to get this guy to talk to him.

         “Wow, you sound really friggin’ smart,” Marcus said. “They’re bloodstone diamond. Kudos to you for noticing, makes it worth the four grand for them.”

         “I don’t think I’m familiar with that specific mineral compou- wait, did you say you spent four thousand dollars on those?” Carlos’ jaw dropped.

         “Yeeup. I gotta go, got an appointment to see to. I’ll wait for you outside after class, Carlos. Ciao!” Marcus pushed himself up off of the lockers, and walked away, leaving Carlos alone in the hallway.

         After a moment of confusion and mental processing of external stimuli, Carlos realized that Marcus seemed appreciative of his science rambling. That was a rarity. He shook himself off and ran into class as the first bell rang.

         The first three classes of Carlos’ day were pretty standard when he compared them to personal data collected from other first days. Syllabi, teachers explaining classroom policies on backpacks and food, introducing themselves with one fun thing they had done that summer. When Carlos said he had spent his summer teaching experiments at youth science camps, there were at least a few giggles. That too, aligned with his previous data.

         He couldn’t help it. Life made more sense in terms of science experiments, Carlos thought as he and Marcus walked to the fourth floor English Literature class. Especially when unpredictable factors, such as his mother’s affair, parent’s divorce, and his cross country move were involved. Science involved controls. And it gave him some control to be an observer.

         “Alright, Carlos, after this you have lunch,” Marcus told him, head still buried in his phone. “I’ve got my marketing class on the first floor, so I’ll just meet you in the lunchroom. That okay?”

         “Yeah! I’ll be on the lookout for you. Thanks again, Marcus.”

         “It’s no problem, this is getting me out of, like, 6 detentions.” Marcus looked up, and clapped him on the back. “Good luck with this one.”

         The classroom was set up with all the desks in a circle, presumably for Socratic seminars. Carlos picked a spot in the front right corner, parallel to the teacher’s desk. Scientifically speaking, it was the spot least likely to have her call on him for his opinion. As the class filled in, Carlos realized that this set-up made it so he could see all of his classmates, and conversely, all of them could see him. He wiped his palms on his shorts again, cursing his hypersensitive eccrine glands. He was fine. He was just going to get his notebook out and doodle, and keep his head down so that no one could make eye contact with him.

         Carlos spent the first half of class in this way, head down, doodling the chemical compounds of his favorite foods, and only partially listening to the teacher reading off the syllabus he had scanned in the first five minutes. That is, until the door opened, and promptly slammed. Carlos looked up, while his classmates either avoided eye contact or began whispering to each other.

         The boy strolling into class was on the taller side of average, and had an air of bravado to him that entranced Carlos. As the stranger sauntered over to their irritated teacher, Carlos was mesmerized by the boy’s apparent total disregard for dress codes, gender roles, and tasteful amounts of glitter. His long legs were encased in what appeared to be sparkly black above-the-knee stockings, held up by actual garters that disappeared under an entirely too-short pair of denim shorts. His shirt was plunging v-neck, with shoulder pads made out of sequins, accentuating the boy’s slim neck. His face was in a coy smile, eyes rimmed with semi-washed off eyeliner and a heart drawn on his left cheekbone. The boy’s hair was shorn close on the sides, but top-heavy and bubblegum pink on top. His lips looked like they could have lipgloss on them, or maybe the boy had been licking them. Carlos tried not to think about that possibility, choosing to cross his legs and avert his eyes instead.

         “Sorry Miss, I got caught in traffic.” a deep voice called out. Carlos’ head snapped back up, refusing to believe that the voice came from the boy. His new classmates’ whispering intensified. The teacher frowned, taking the boy’s late pass from his perfectly manicured hand.

         “Don’t let it happen again, Cecil.” she said, indicating a seat roughly across from Carlos. She continued her lecture, and Cecil sat down. Their classmates continued to whisper, but more discreetly now.

         Carlos tried not to stare, he honestly did. In most societies, staring was seen as aggressive or a sign of disapproval, he reminded himself. However, a small voice in the back of his mind said, he wasn't a sociologist. He was a scientist.  And Cecil wasn't even paying attention to him. Carlos watched him take out his phone. And take a few selfies. And doodle a bit on the class syllabus. He couldn't stop, Cecil wasn't like anything he had ever seen in real life. Maybe once in a music video, but he was literally 20 ft away from a guy wearing stockings and garters. In public. _To school_. Cecil sighed, and took a sucker out of his trapper. Carlos watched him deftly unwrap the red treat, and lick at it tenatively. Cecil popped the sucker in his mouth, looked straight at Carlos, and smirked.

         Carlos felt his cheeks get red as he sharply looked down at his notebook. He did not just get caught staring at another guy the first day of school here. Furthermore, he did not just get smirked at by a guy with a sucker dangling out of his mouth. And there was no possibility that this might have given him half a boner. Luckily for him, the bell rang at that exact moment, and everyone booked it out of class into lunch.

         Lunchrooms maintained a certain degree of familiarity,event with external factors weighing in on the experiment, noted Carlos. There was the mediocre, but filling food. There was the mob of people at the front of the burger line, and the hall monitors doing a poor job of catching people cutting in front of others. There was even a clean divide of social strata once he was in the lunchroom, but to his surprise, Marcus wasn't sitting in the top ranked spots. Instead, he was in a back corner table, looking over what appeared to be spreadsheets and on his cell phone, yet again.

         “Jake, for the last time. I want you to hold onto that stock. I've got good word that they’re going to drop something new next week,” Marcus yelled into his cell as Carlos approached. “Listen, I've got my lunch appointment here. I’ll talk to you later, you magnificent bastard. Au revoir.”

         “You own stock?” Carlos asked, pushing spreadsheets away from his tray.

         “I own everything. How was class?” Marcus asked, chowing down into a veggie burger.

         “Boring. We’re going to read ‘Death Comes to the Archbishop’ starting next week. Actually, something funny happened,” Carlos swallowed a bite of garlic bread. “Some guy came in super late, and he practically stopped class.”

         “Mm, cool.” Marcus was texting again.

         “Like, the class pretty much stopped.” Carlos repeated, trying to get Marcus to pay attention. “Everyone seemed to be freaking out about him coming in late, but he didn't really seem like the type A student, ya know?”

         Marcus nodded along, now drinking chocolate milk and checking stocks online.

         “His name was Cecil. Cecil… Cecil something. Didn't catch a last name.”

         Marcus choked on his chocolate milk.

         “Cecil Palmer?” he said, sputtering.

         “I just said, I didn't catch a last name.” Carlos stated, moving his tray out of Marcus’ spray zone.

         “That had to be Cecil,” Marcus said, staring down at his half-eaten lunch. “No one else is named Cecil.”

         “What’s so wrong with Cecil?” Carlos asked.

         “Nothing!” Marcus snapped. He softened up. “I mean, I personally wouldn’t try to chat him up. He doesn’t run with your crowd, bro.”

         “How do you know what kind of crowd I run with?” Carlos asked defensively.

         “Listen, punk. Just avoid Cecil, alright? He’s not good news, I promise.” Marcus began to reorganize his spreadsheets.

         “Why?” Carlos prodded. Marcus sighed deeply, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

         “It’s not my place to say,” he sighed. “But trust me on this. I know Cecil, and I like you, Carlos. Just trust me.” Marcus looked Carlos dead in the eye, not blinking.

         “Fine,” Carlos agreed, putting his hands up in defense. “Anyway, what stocks are you buying?”

         As Marcus launched into an explanation of the current economy, Carlos let his mind wander. Sure, Cecil was cute, but Marcus had seemed pretty adamant that it was in his best interests to avoid him. And he had said that he liked Carlos. Seeing as he had extremely limited field research, and Marcus could be seen as the ‘head scientist’ of this experiment, and Carlos really didn’t want to screw up the first friendship he was on his way to making, he decided to let it slide.

         Now, to figure out how to get Marcus to stop talking and tell him where his next class was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's the second chapter, hopefully I'll be updating every Tuesday and Friday nights. I will be updating at least once a week, if not twice. 
> 
> Thanks for the great reception, I'm excited to bring you more. :) 
> 
> This chapter is also incredibly tame, so no warnings.

         “Soooo, Carlito, who are you taking to Homecoming?” Rochelle asked, smirking at him from across the table. Marcus and Steve began to snicker. Carlos groaned good-naturedly.

         He was almost done with his first month of sophomore year, and somehow, he had lucked out in making friends. Scientifically speaking, there was no such thing as luck, but serendipitously sitting by the most talkative girl on the first day of Science Bowl seemed like luck to Carlos. The fact that Rochelle, who introduced him to Steve, got along with Marcus as well was more than lucky.

         Marcus threw a soggy french fry at Carlos.

         “Yeah, who’s gonna be the lucky lady?” he asked.

          “I bet it’s gonna be Maureen,” Steve joked. Everyone groaned.

          “I don’t think I’m gonna ask anyone,” Carlos said, sipping at a Diet Coke. “I don’t know anyone, really.”

          “Oh c’mon. Is it Pamela?” Rochelle whined, chomping down on a sandwich.

          “Not even close,” Carlos munched on, thinking carefully for a few seconds. “I don’t like girls.”

          His friends stared at him, waiting for an elaboration. Carlos, red-faced and fiddling with his straw, gave none. 

          “Wait, like in the ‘girls have cooties-slash-are too much effort-slash-are intimidating’ sense, or…?” Steve asked.

          “Uh, the other sense,” Carlos admitted. He knew his face was going red again. He hadn’t technically come out to his new friends, but he had also never gave them any reason to think he was straight.

          “Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve asked.

          “Didn’t think I had to.”

          There was a moment’s pause, as Carlos’s friends nodded to themselves, as if to align the new information with data they had collected previously.

          “Oh, okay. What about Nazr?” Rochelle asked. Marcus gagged. Carlos breathed a sigh of relief. That was easier than expected.

          “Still no,” Carlos said. “Guys, I’m not asking anyone. It’d be weird.”

          “Whatever, big shot. But let us know if you wanna, we’ll help you out.” Marcus’ phone rang. Everyone threw a french fry at him. As Carlos scooted out of the booth to let Marcus up, the door to the Arby’s swung open, and two boys and a girl their age waltzed in, laughing and deeply engrossed in each other. Carlos recognized Cecil, and quickly wiped his hands on his jeans, looking back at Steve and Rochelle.

          “Ugh, Night Vale’s resident bitch clique,” Rochelle scoffed, staring at Cecil and the other two. Carlos used this opportunity to look again at them.

          Cecil was wearing the short shorts again, but he had an oversized denim jacket on over his cheaply made tank top. The other boy was tall, beefy, and seemed to be dressed in a boy scout’s uniform, although it had more safety pins, burn marks, and band pins than Carlos had remembered as regulation. His red hair was cut similarly to Cecil’s, but the curly texture made it look more floppy. The girl was much, much shorter than the other two, dressed entirely in black. Black tights, black fuzzy skirt, black t shirt, black hjiab. She looked over at Rochelle, flashing a friendly smile.

          Rochelle looked taken aback, but waved timidly. Steve snickered, and Rochelle promptly punched him.

          “Okay, so I know Cecil, but who are the other two?” Carlos asked.

          “Earl Harlan and Dana Cardinal,” Steve answered. “Earl’s a junior, Dana’s a freshman.”

          “Earl’s captain of the Boy Scouts. He’s still ‘hardcore’, though,” Rochelle said, waggling her fingers in air quotations.

          “Is this coffee bitter, or is it just you?” Marcus scoffed, sitting back down with the group. “He’s not an awful human being.”

          “I’m just not fond of Cecil, and they’re glued together.” Rochelle answered.

          “Are they dating?” Carlos asked.

          “Nah,” Steve said, as he saw Earl kiss Cecil on the cheek. “Well, maybe. We’re not really sure.”

          “Oh, okay,” Carlos said, nodding a little.

          As conversation turned into drilling Rochelle as to why Dana would be smiling at her, Carlos analyzed his personal data. Cecil hadn’t shown any further interest in him in the month they’d been in class together. In fact, objectively speaking, they’d never said a word to each other. Also, subjects native to the environment seemed to be under the impression that Cecil was both paired off, and monogamous in his romantic affections. Or at least, someone much larger than Carlos had seemingly claimed him. Also, Cecil was kind of an asshole in class.  Asking a popular, pretty, party boy to homecoming was scientifically a terrible idea.

          As Cecil, Earl and Dana walked by their booth, Cecil looked Carlos directly in the eye, raising a single eyebrow and smirking. Carlos flushed, knocking over his pop in the process. Cecil, Earl and Dana broke out in laughter.

         “Oh for shit’s sake, Carlos,” Rochelle groaned, throwing a pile of napkins on the spill.

         “It’s not like I tried to!” he hissed, now mopping it up. He looked up again after soaking up most of it with the thin-ply napkins. Cecil was looking at him again from their booth across the room. Carlos dropped the soggy napkins into his lap.

         “Fuck,” he swore as his friends laughed at his clumsiness. Definitely not a good idea to ask Cecil to homecoming.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Night Vale Scorpions battle the Desert Bluffs Cacti in the annual Homecoming Game- and there's plenty to watch in the stands as well.

      Carlos shivered a little as he and his friends walked down to the football field. It may have been a desert biome, but October evenings were still chilly. However, the wind howling by didn’t seem to dampen the mood of anyone as the Night Vale Scorpions Stadium filled to the brim for the Homecoming Game.

       “I cannot believe you actually wore the damn suit,” Rochelle said to Steve.

       “The only thing that Nazr specified on the superfan twitter was white out wear,” he said, practically skipping in his boat shoes. “And I just happen to own a white suit. I mean, Rochelle. Carlos is wearing a lab coat.”

       “I don’t own any other white jackets!” Carlos said.

       “You two are an embarrassment. I can only imagine what Marcus would add to the mix,” Rochelle rolled her eyes, adjusting her bandana.

       “Well, then you’re lucky that he’s in the band,” Steve ran ahead a bit. “Come on, we’re gonna end up in the back of the bleachers!”

       As luck would have it, they ended up in the back of the student superfan section, up against the back of the bleachers. Carlos didn’t mind, there was more room to breathe up there. He didn’t care much for football anyway. Scientifically speaking, there were too many pauses and rules and turnovers for him to follow. Football games were fun for the environment, not the game.

       The band marched down to the field, drumline beating out a cadence. As they marched upon the field, the entire student section stood up in a fluid motion, under the direction of pride captain Nazr Al-Mujaheed. Steve spotted Marcus playing saxophone while they played Desert Bluffs’ fight song, pointing him out to Carlos and Rochelle. The football team came on during their fight song, amid screams and cheers from the entire home side bleachers. As the Star Spangled Banner wrapped up and the marching band left the field, Carlos pulled several boxes of candy and bottles of Coke out of his bookbag, passing them to Steve and Rochelle.

       “Got any more to share?” came an unfamiliar voice to the right of Carlos. He spun around to see Cecil Palmer, Earl Harlan and Dana Cardinal standing by them.

       “Um, I have two more Cokes and a bag of Starburst,” Carlos said, digging in his bag.

       “Oh, I was kidding,” Earl said, embarrassed. “You don’t have to share,”

       “No! It’s fine, I brought plenty.” Carlos gave Cecil the candy and soda. Cecil passed one of the Cokes to Dana, and the Starburst to Earl.

       “Thanks! We were trying to get here early, but someone couldn’t find his white lipstick,” Earl said cheerily, elbowing Cecil.

       “It completes the look. I wasn’t leaving home without it,” Cecil scoffed. Carlos had to admit, the lipstick looked fantastic on Cecil. As did the white eyeshadow. And the white skintight leggings paired with a mesh white crop top.

       “Guys, the kickoff is going on! You gotta be quiet!” Steve shushed the others.

       “Actually, Steve, contrary to your popular belief, the football players can’t even hear us, even with your obnoxious tones radiating out into the night. So I think we’ll be fine, thank you very much.” Cecil scowled at Steve, who just furrowed his eyebrows at him. Carlos looked to Rochelle for an explanation, but she just rolled her eyes and shrugged.

       The football game wasn’t a particularly interesting one- quarterback Michael Sandero was running a game that slaughtered the Desert Bluffs team. Surprisingly, the intimidating looking Earl Harlan proved to be the chattiest, talking to both groups and paying zero attention to the game.

        “I’m aiming to get my Eagle Scout by the end of the year,” he told Carlos and Steve during the second quarter. “I’ll be building bloodstone circles for all the elementary school playgrounds this spring.”

        “Wouldn’t that technically be an infringement of church and state, since they’re public schools?” Steve asked.

        “God Steve, you are so stupid,” Cecil groaned. “The City Council has protected bloodstone circles as historic locations and they’re technically folk arts, not religious, so Earl is just fine to make them for the elementary schools. If you paid any attention to Council decisions, you might know this.”

        “Cee, it’s fine,” Earl shushed. Cecil scowled at Steve, turning back to the game. Steve looked hurt, but didn’t say anything.

        Carlos was confused. Clearly, Rochelle and Steve were justified in their dislike of Cecil, but weren’t willing to say anything. On the other hand, Dana and Earl were being super nice. Dana had even moved over to stand by Rochelle, who was tossing Jolly Ranchers into the air for Dana to catch in her mouth. Earl and Cecil were arguing quietly to themselves, leaving Carlos and Steve in the middle. Steve was looking in the general direction of the game, but his eyes weren’t tracking any of the players on the field. He gave an irritated sigh.

        “You okay?” Carlos asked.

        “I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be back.” Steve said absentmindedly, shuffling by Carlos, Earl and Cecil. Carlos shot a curt look at Cecil as Steve descended the bleachers. The crowd in front of them buzzed, but the back row was uncomfortably quiet for a few moments.

        “So, Carlos, when did you move here?” Earl finally asked.

        “Um, mid June. My dad got a job here doing research a few towns over,” Carlos said. “He’s a botanist and he’s um, studying the molecular structure of a specific subspecies of cacti and its potential medical and pharmaceutical uses, along with possible cosmetic side products.”

        Earl nodded politely, eyes glazed a little. Shit, thought Carlos. There goes the science rambling.

        “Where are you from originally?” Dana asked.

        “Minnesota.” Carlos said. “West St. Paul, specifically. My mom’s a professor of dendrology at the U.”

        “So is that why you’ve got the lab coat?” Earl asked.

        “No, this one is mine. I like science, I’m looking into going into physics or geology. Or maybe astrophysics. Possibly biology, but that could be a dead end field, ya know?” Carlos said, bunching the ends of his lab coat in his hands.

        “Not really, but I’ll take your word for it,” Earl said with a laugh. Carlos let out a nervous laugh in reply.

        At halftime, Night Vale was up 60-18. Steve returned in time to see Marcus in the halftime marching show, which was spectacular and thoroughly cheered on by Rochelle, Carlos and Steve. Cecil, Dana, and Earl laughed at the three jumping up and down like animals, but it didn’t feel mean-spirited this time.

        The rest of the game passed without much incident- Night Vale ended up beating Desert Bluffs 75-21, a new record for the town. Carlos and the others stayed late to watch the fireworks after the game. Marcus joined them in the stands, still in uniform and sweaty from rushing the field post game. As they watched the fireworks go up, Carlos noticed Earl kiss Cecil on the cheek. He ignored it, choosing to bask in the glory of titanium, strontium, antimony and phosphorus lit on fire and propelled into the sky at high velocity. The soundwaves from the fireworks echoed through his chest, giving the affection he felt for his friends a physical sensation. The sensation continued as the two groups walked out to the parking lot in a sea of white dressed teenagers.

        “So, does anyone wanna stay out?” Cecil asked, unwrapping a sucker and popping it in his mouth. “My curfew is never.”

        “I’m game,” said Marcus. “Parents won’t notice.”

        “Same here,” said Rochelle.

        “I’ll go,” Steve said. Cecil rolled his eyes, but he made no snide comments.

        “I can’t,” Carlos said, turning red. “Dad wanted me home after the game.”

        “I can give you a ride home.” offered Earl. Carlos began to backtrack.

        “I didn’t mean- You don’t have to! I can walk, it’s really not that far. You go with the others,” he said earnestly.

        “Not a chance,” Earl scoffed. “It’s dark out. You’ll get eaten alive. Where do you live?”  

        “Golden Dunes,” he said.

        “Perfect, I’m over in Marshall’s Gorge,” Earl drew Cecil into a bear hug. “I’ll see you later, don’t get into too much trouble without me!”

        Carlos felt awkward sitting in Earl’s car as they drove across town, deeply immersed in his own thoughts. Earl was clearly just trying to do Carlos a favor, but wouldn’t he rather be out with his real friends? He was clearly not the kind of guy to go home before 11pm on a Friday night, he probably was used to staying out all weekend, rocking out hardcore, and doing whatever punk kids did. What did punk kids do? Besides gorgeous boys in white leggings and lipstick. Earl was probably regretting driving Carlos home, he gave up a night with his gorgeous, glitter covered, sucker loving, boyfriend to-

        “Hey, thanks for letting me drive you home,” Earl said, interrupting Carlos’s monologue. “I’ve got a scout meeting super early tomorrow and I needed to bail anyway.”

        “Oh, uh, no problem.” Carlos said. “Thanks for driving me.” The car resumed its former silence.

        “Cecil’s super fun, but you know, there’s only so many Boy Scout-mandated service hours in the library a guy can take. Gotta stay a good role model for the kids, ya know?” Earl confessed, swinging a sharp right turn.

        “Yeah, I understand that. I don’t get how Cecil’s parents handle him going out all the time, I mean, my dad would kill me if I left the house wearing half the stuff Cecil wears.” Carlos said.

        Earl slammed on the brakes, hard.

        “Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to do that,” he said embarrassed. “Did you say something about Cecil’s parents?”

        “Yes?” Carlos said, readjusting his seatbelt. He looked over at Earl, who was chewing on his lip. “Is there something wrong with them?”

        “You didn’t say anything about them to Cee, right?” Earl said, voice sounding panicky.

        “No?” Carlos said, confused. Earl sighed deeply.

        “Good,” he said.

        “What’s the deal with his parents?” Carlos asked. Earl continued to chew on his lip as

         Carlos stared at him, waiting for an answer.  

         “It’s complicated,” Earl said quietly. “And I don’t know how much I should say.”

         “You don’t have to tell me anything,” Carlos said quickly. “I just thought-”

         “No, it’s fine.” Earl interrupted. “Look, I can’t say much, but for all intents and purposes, Cecil doesn’t have parents. Or a family. He lives on his own.”

         “Oh.” Carlos said. He felt embarrassed. He didn’t even know these guys, and he was making Earl tell him Cecil’s secrets.

         “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you-” Carlos started.

         “It’s fine. You should know, I mean. Everyone else does.” Earl sounded bitter.

         “How long have you guys been friends?” Carlos asked timidly. Earl looked over at him softly.

         “Ages. He and I were both chosen to join scouts. We just sort of clicked.” Earl was smiling. “It’s not always been easy, especially lately, but Cecil’s a good guy. He’s just trying to figure himself out right now.” They parked outside of Carlos’s house.

         “Thanks for the ride,” Carlos said, stepping out into the cool October air.

         “No problem, bro.” Earl leaned down so Carlos could see him through the window. “And hey- if you could just not talk about Cecil’s family stuff, that’d be great.”

         “Sure,” Carlos said. There wasn’t much to talk about, as far as Earl had told him. “I can do that. Thanks again,”

         “See you around, punk.” Earl grinned, and slammed on the gas. As his car roared through the quiet neighborhood, Carlos was left standing at the end of his driveway, wondering if anything surrounding his new friends, or Cecil Palmer, would ever make sense.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot to mention that I have a tumblr- eddie-brentano is my handle. You should follow me there, and we can talk about Welcome to Night Vale, or art, or anything else really. 
> 
> Comments/Criticisms/Etc. are appreciated as always! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecoming Dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to punkrockgaia, creator of Glam Trash Cecil. Happy Birthday! 
> 
> (Warning: alcohol use, Carlos in a poor headspace, hints of dubious consent, but no sexual content)

         “Say cheese!” Carlos’s dad chimed for what Carlos mentally documented as what had to be the thousandth time.

         “I am so sorry.” Carlos apologized through his smile. Rochelle laughed a little.

         “No biggie,” she said with teeth clenched into a grin. “My parents are doing the same thing. Is my dress zipper coming down?”

         Carlos turned to look.

         “Nope, you’re all good. And you look really pretty, Roch.” he said, breaking away from the awkward side-hug pose he had been holding while their parents took pictures.

         “Aw, thanks Carlito. You do too.” she said, straightening his tie under his vest. “Mom, Dad, are we all good?”

         “I think so,” Rochelle’s mom said, putting her camera back into its bag again. “Call us if anything goes wrong, okay?”

         “You’re sleeping over at Steve’s, right?” Carlos’s dad chimed in.

         “Yep, his parents will be home.” Carlos said.

         “Alright, you kids have a good time. Stay safe, Roch.” Rochelle’s dad pulled her into a hug. They waved goodbye, and Carlos and Rochelle climbed into Rochelle’s pickup.

         “Thanks again for being my date,” Rochelle said as she tore through town on the way to Steve’s house to drop their bags off before the dance.

         “No problem, it’s nice to have someone to go with,” Carlos said, clutching at the overhead handle. “From a sociological standpoint, going with a date to a Homecoming dance is the best way to affirm your place in the community structure of the high school.” Rochelle laughed.

         “Yeah, and it also helps to make sure my parents don’t know I’m gay,” she slammed on the brakes outside a small, but well taken care of ranch house. “We’re here, better go get Steve and Marcus.”

         Carlos grabbed his bag and followed Rochelle inside the modest house. Once there, they were subjugated to another set of parents who wanted pictures, this time the Vanstens and Steve’s dad. Between thinking up ways to electrically engineer a camera flash that wasn’t blinding, Carlos began to worry he was underdressed. Rochelle, of course, looked great in a bright pink party dress. Objectively speaking, he wasn’t really competing for the attention of or against Rochelle though. However, Steve and Marcus had both worn suits. Nice suits. In comparison, Carlos’s skinny jeans/button down/tie combo looked less than impressive. Carlos began to internally panic.

          “Earth to Carlos? Hello?” Marcus said. Carlos blinked, realizing that everyone but him had broken out of their photo poses.

          “We’re leaving now. Is everything okay?” Steve asked.

          “Yeah, sorry,” Carlos apologized. “Who’s driving?”

          During the ride to the dance, Carlos continued to panic, remembering how high school dances actually worked. Namely, that he would have to dance. Or at least, look like he was too cool to dance. What if his friends ended up in the middle of the mosh pit? What if they didn’t, what if he ended up being on the edge of the dancefloor again? Being a loser at the day to day monotonous reality of school was one thing, but being the wallflower at the school dance was just sad. Pathetic, really.

          “Carlos, are you sure you’re okay?” Steve asked, shaking his arm gently. Carlos realized he had been chewing on his lip instead of talking to his friends.

          “Sorry, I’m alright,” he said. “Uh, how long does the dance last?”

          “Until 11,” Rochelle said. She turned around and patted Carlos’s leg gently. “Don’t worry, if it’s too much we can dip early. But we’re gonna have a great time!” Carlos breathed a sigh of relief.

          The school cafeteria was dimly lit, with strands of twinkling christmas lights replacing the usual fluorescent glare. It was packed full of students standing in clusters around the dance floor and dancing in the middle. There were a few teachers standing by the bathrooms and hallway exits to ensure no students snuck off. To one side was a table full of Gatorade coolers, presumably filled with water and lemonade. After dumping Rochelle’s heels and purse on a nearby table, Carlos was dragged onto the dance floor by his friends.

          Dancing got easier when it was dark, Carlos noted. As in dark enough in the high school cafeteria that he was pretty sure no one could see him. At least, his friends chose not to say anything about how his elbows couldn’t leave his sides. From a third person party, mused Carlos, Steve’s inability to recognize his inability to do the dougie was far more entertaining than his own failures on the dancefloor. Actually, Steve’s inability to dougie was entertaining to an in party observer, and Carlos stopped dancing completely to laugh.

          “Steve, honey… no…” Rochelle groaned. “Like this,” Rochelle began to dance, quite successfully.

          “That’s what I was doing!” Steve exclaimed. Rochelle continued to dance around Steve in a circle, exaggerated frown of disapproval on her face. Marcus and Carlos were in tears at this point.

          “Whoa, where’d you learn that?” came a high pitched voice behind Carlos’s shoulder. Carlos whipped around, stepping on Marcus’s foot in the process.

          Dana Cardinal smiled at Rochelle, who stopped dancing and smirking.

          “Uh, YouTube?” she said, voice turning up at the end.

          “You gotta show me how to dance like that, I’ve got two left feet,” Dana laughed. “Is it cool if I stand by you guys for a while?”

          “Of course,” Rochelle said. “Where are the other two?” Dana raised a single eyebrow, almost looking angry.

          “Cecil and Earl,” Carlos covered. “You’re usually with them.”

          “They’re over there,” Dana explained, gesturing vaguely into the moshy air of the dance floor. “They’re too drunk to function right now. Show me how to dance like that!”

          While Dana and Rochelle danced together, Carlos squinted through the crowd of teenagers to find Cecil and Earl. He didn’t have to look far.

          If Carlos felt out of place dancing on the side in skinny jeans, he had nothing to fear in comparison to Earl and Cecil. They were in the center of the mosh pit, grinding against each other and anyone within a 5 foot radius of them. Earl’s suit jacket was covered completely in metal studs, dress shorts cut above the knee to showcase metallic Doc Martens boots. Cecil had opted for a less than tasteful pair of latex-looking leggings and sequined dinner jacket over a tank top. They didn’t look like they belonged anywhere near a high school dance, and they didn’t seem to care.

          “Do you wanna go dance by them?” Steve asked from behind Carlos. He looked disdainful, apprehensive of the drunk messes that Carlos was staring at.

          “No, not really,” he laughed. “Not really at all.”

          Carlos realized while dancing that he actually didn’t want to go dance with Cecil and Earl. The data he had collected so far pointed to the two being belligerently intoxicated, which was something Carlos was disinterested in overall. Additionally, he had witnessed Earl straight up grabbing Cecil’s junk on the dance floor, and scientifically speaking, he couldn’t decide if he wanted someone to physically desire him enough to do that, or if he would actually vomit if someone were to ever even try.

          Still, it was getting harder and harder to deny the attraction that Carlos was feeling towards Cecil, who was currently in what looked like a complete forward bend on a nameless, faceless, senior boy. There was so much confidence oozing from him, so many bad decisions he was making, Carlos didn’t quite know if he wanted to save Cecil or be on top of him.  

          Instead, he decided to be weird on his own. Marcus had dragged over one of his DECA partners, Jake, over to dance with them. Steve, Carlos, Marcus, Jake, Rochelle and Dana danced like animals by themselves. Rochelle was still the only one who had any rhythm, but what the others lacked in skill they made up in enthusiasm.

          The fun continued for the majority of the dance, until, as Carlos chose to classify it, a disaster occurred.

          “Alright Night Vale, it’s time to slooow things down for a bit,” the DJ said over fast music fading into some cheesy ballad. “So grab your honies, honies!” Carlos whipped around, trying to find Rochelle.

          Rochelle, who according to science, was a dirty traitor who was supposed to dance with him so he wouldn’t be left alone when this happened, was dancing with Dana, arms slung low around the other girl’s hips. Carlos shot her the most annoyed look he could muster. She shrugged, mouthing sorry.

          All of his friends had managed to find a dancing partner. Marcus had one hand wrapped around Jake’s neck, the other slowly loosening his own tie. Steve was refusing to look a very pretty senior girl in the eye as he twirled her around ballroom style. Dana and Rochelle were, of course, engrossed in each other, leaving Carlos alone on the dancefloor. The loneliness hit him abruptly and viciously.

          _I’m still on the outside_ , thought Carlos as he quickly walked off the dancefloor. He loosened his tie to halfway down his chest, bypassing hopeful looking freshman girls standing on the edge of the cafeteria. He felt their eyes on him, willing him to ask them to dance with him. A bitter laugh edged out of his mouth.

          He didn’t understand why he felt so upset, so suddenly. It wasn’t like he had ever been socially acceptable enough to always have a slow dance at his old school. It wasn’t like he had even had a real date to dance with, after all. God, this always happened, he always built himself up to want good things and they never worked out. Trying to maintain some sense of calm, Carlos slipped out into the outdoor lunch area.

          The air was cold, which felt good after dancing for hours. Carlos sat on a lunch table, sighing deeply. Staring up into the sky, he began to identify stars. Vega, the brightest in the October sky. Altair. Deneb. If he squinted, he could see Sagitta. All of them thousands of millions of miles away, and he could still see them. Carlos inhaled deeply, trying to think of the mathematics of light travel instead of how small this distance made him feel. He was a microorganism in the grand scheme of everything, there was truly nothing that he could do to make an impact on the universe- he could discover a hundred elements, invents a thousand scientific devices, create a million chemical reactions, and he wouldn’t have even made a scratch in changing the universe.

          Carlos put his head in his hands, trying not to cry about how alone he was in that exact moment.

          His lonely reverie was interrupted by the sound of retching behind him.

          Over behind the courtyard’s lone tree was Cecil, bent in half and puking profusely. Before he could think, Carlos was standing over him, rubbing his back and comforting him.

          “Hey, hey, it’s gonna be alright,” he shushed. “Are you okay?”

          Cecil finished, wiped his mouth and looked up at Carlos blearily.

          “Science Carlos,” he slurred. “Why’re you out here?”

          “That’s not important,” Carlos said matter of factly, gently guiding Cecil to sit down. “Where’s Earl?”

          “Early’s dancing. Didn’t wanna slow dance with him,” Cecil pouted. “He gets sad eyes,”

          “How much have you had to drink?” Carlos asked. Cecil slumped onto Carlos’s shoulder, making a non-committal groaning noise.

          “You smell nice, Carlo,” he said, inhaling deeply. Carlos smelled himself.

          “Um, what you’re smelling is sweat. And technically, sweat doesn’t necessarily smell bad to every person, it all depends on the amount of hormones released and the compatibility of immune systems, it’s just that humans in western cultures are taught that body odor is inherently bad,so-” Carlos was cut off by Cecil giggling.

          “You’re so fucking smart, Carlo” he giggled, now sliding so his head was in Carlos’s lap. He batted his eyelashes at Carlos. “And I am sooo drunk right now,”     

          “Yes, about that,” Carlos said, trying to ignore how the moonlight reflected off of Cecil’s heavily lined eyes, “Do you know how much you drank?”

          “Not really,” Cecil shrugged. He bit his lower lip and narrowed his eyes in what Carlos thought was an attempt to look sexy. Cecil looked more confused. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

          Carlos stared down at Cecil, mouth slightly open. His mascara was beginning to run, and he smelled like sweat and vomit. And yet, Carlos was more focused on the slender line of his neck, the way his hair looked gorgeous swept up and tousled from dancing with countless other guys, how his lips were pink and pouty. Cecil was beautiful, but he was also drunk out of his mind at his sophomore Homecoming Dance.

          “C’mon, Mr. Strong Jaw,” Cecil murmured at Carlos. Carlos touched his jaw self consciously. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

          “Cecil, we’ve never talked to each other,” Carlos said slowly, trying to shift Cecil off of his crotch. “Can I borrow your phone?”

          “Ooh, are you gonna put your phone number in?” Cecil cooed, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. “Leaving me a number to call when I’m lonely?”

          “No, I’m putting a memo into your phone to remind you to buy Gatorade tomorrow. The electrolytes and sugar will help with what I’m going to assume will be a nasty hangover. Preferably the clear kind, it’s got the least dyes in it.” Carlos finished typing the memo, deciding to put an alarm on it to make sure Cecil saw it. Cecil was staring in the general direction of Carlos, eyes focusing and defocusing.

          “I’m lonely all the time,” Cecil mumbled, not quite focusing on Carlos.

          “That’s really sad.” said Carlos. Cecil stared at him, struggling to focus.

          “You should fuck me,” he said, smiling hazily. Carlos pushed him off of his lap.

          “Nope. Nope. Nope. We definitely should not do that,” he said, standing up and shaking his head.

          “Why nooooooooot?” Cecil whined, stumbling after Carlos. “You’re cute, I’m cute, we’re both alone…”

          “You are heavily intoxicated right now,” Carlos said, maintaining a sizable distance between himself and Cecil. “And to be quite frank, I don’t think you know who I am when you’re sober.”

          “Thass not true,” Cecil slurred, lurching towards Carlos. “You stare at me in English,”

          Carlos stopped moving to pull himself up to full height.

          “That is not true.”

          “Yeah-huh.”

          “No it’s not,”

          Cecil began to giggle. He clumsily sauntered over to Carlos, wobbling on glitter encrusted high heels. He tried to drag a single finger across Carlos’s lips, but overshot it and ended up falling forward, smacking Carlos in the face. Carlos caught Cecil before he could fall.

           “Mmm, my white knight in shining armor,” Cecil giggled, mouth inches away from Carlos’s.

           “N-n-not even close,” Carlos stammered. Cecil leaned in, eyes shut-

           “What the fuck- Carlos!” Rochelle yelled.

           Carlos dropped Cecil, backing up several feet, arms in the air. Rochelle and Dana had come out to get fresh air, and walked out on Carlos holding a very drunk, very confused Cecil.

           This did not look good.  

           “I didn’t do anything, I swear!” Carlos said.

           “Way to sound guilty as shit, dumbass,” Rochelle snarked. Dana started pulling Cecil up.

           “No, he’s fine,” Dana sighed, irritated. “This isn’t the first time this has happened, Ceec gets waayyy too handsy when he’s had a few.”

           “He rubbed my back when I threw up,” Cecil groaned. Really noticing the new people for the first time, Cecil let out a cheer, which Dana promptly cut short with a jab to the ribs.

           “I’m so sorry, Carlos,” she apologized.

           “It’s okay,” Carlos said awkwardly. “Did he drive?”

           “Not even a chance, we’re crashing at Earl’s tonight.” Dana started pulling Cecil along with her. “Listen, we should probably go. Thanks for watching out for him, Carlos.”

           “No problem,” Carlos said. “Uh, glad to help.”

           “You should call me,” Dana said to Rochelle as she and Cecil left, winking. She blushed profusely, waving as the other two exited back into the cafeteria. There was a pregnant pause.

           “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Rochelle turned to Carlos.

           “I could say the same to you,” snapped Carlos. “Sneaking out of the dance with Dana? I thought you said she was part of the ‘bitch clique’.”

           “Shut up.” Rochelle punched Cecil in the arm. “You were about to make out with the queen of said bitch clique.”

           “I was not!” Carlos insisted, now following Rochelle back into the cafeteria. “He was trying to make out with me, I was trying to keep him from puking all over himself!”

           “Interesting technique there, holding him in your arms like that,” Rochelle said loudly over the once again upbeat music. “Did they teach you that in health class, or ‘Bad Romance Genre Tropes 101’?”

           “Bitch,” said Carlos, rolling his eyes. “Where’s everyone else?”

           As Carlos lay on Steve’s couch watching some gory movie later that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Cecil looked in the moonlight.

           How impossibly, colossally, incredibly stupid Cecil had been to get drunk at a school function. How his leggings were cheap, and makeup tacky at best. How disgusting it was that he tried to come onto Carlos while so out of it. How charming his laugh had sounded. How Cecil’s bone structure was scientifically speaking, the most beautiful thing that Carlos had ever seen. How Cecil had said that he was cute. He couldn’t decide if he wanted Cecil to completely forget the whole thing come sobriety, or if he wanted him to remember it as vividly as he did.

            The adrenaline of it all left Carlos awake all night.  

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update- college is a thing. Enjoy! 
> 
> Warnings: alcohol, promiscuous behavior, Steve getting some.

         “So, is it a costume party?” Carlos asked over the phone, walking through the aisles of the Ralph’s.

         “I mean, I guess. I’m definitely gonna be nude, though.” Marcus answered.

         “I hope to God you’re kidding,” Carlos said. “What kind of candy do you want?”

         “All of it. I gave you the black card, right?”

         Carlos dug in his pockets. Indeed, the credit card Marcus had lent him was black. A very dark black. Black enough that it was difficult to make out the numbers, or the signature, or the less-black “Bloodstone Card” embossed over it.

         “Yeah, I’ve got it. I still don’t get why you couldn’t get the stuff yourself.” Carlos said, grabbing bags of orange and black wrapped treats and throwing them into his cart.

         “I’m banned from the Ralph’s,” Marcus complained. “Public nudity is a crime, I guess. Grab some Red Solo Cups, too.”

         Carlos let out a deep sigh.

         “How much booze are we talking?” he whispered, eyeing the elderly clerk that was hissing curses in his direction.

         “Just get a few packs, I’ve got some leftover from last time,” Marcus said. “Hey- Jake’s here with my quarterly accounts. I’ll see you at 7, alright?”

         “See you then,” Carlos said, and hung up the phone. He let out another deep sigh, pushing his cart in the direction of party supplies.

         According to Marcus, his parents left every year on a two week long business trip in late October, and in order to make up for all of the trick or treating they had missed when Marcus was young, they started leaving the limitless credit card with him. Marcus made full use of this credit card by throwing the most ridiculous Halloween party imaginable, every year since his freshman year.

         And now Carlos had been invited to his first rager. Actually, from an objective standpoint, Carlos was helping to plan his first rager. He threw plastic cups into the cart, along with a bulk kit of napkins. Turning to the seasonal supplies aisle, Carlos began to weigh his options.

         He could choose not to go, of course. But that would be weird, helping Marcus plan things out and then not showing up. Carlos was still trying to remove “normal” from his vocabulary, but the statistical average was definitely in favor of him showing up to this party.

         He could choose to go, but not drink. That, however would lead to another Homecoming situation. Carlos winced at the memory.

         Cecil had yet to say anything to him about Homecoming. Carlos wasn’t even sure he remembered the incident, but he also doubted that Dana wouldn’t have told him if he was blacked out. Cecil just continued to exist in the same literal plane as Carlos without ever interacting with him.

         Choice number three was to go to the party, drink, maybe get arrested, maybe lose all hope of a college scholarship, maybe get sent back to Minnesota to live with his mom and her stupid boyfriend, and maybe make a complete and utter fool of himself.

         Grabbing a toy axe, Carlos took a deep sigh and shook his head. Option #3 it was.

 

         “What are you?” Marcus asked Carlos as he walked into the Vansten’s expansive basement.

         “A lumberjack,” Carlos said, waving his axe. “Are you-”

         “Yes, I am definitely nude.” Marcus smirked, walking out from behind the foosball table. The only thing he was wearing was a very short pair of black shorts, with the word “censored” in white font across the front.

         “Cute. I got the stuff, where do you want it?”

         Carlos had to admit, Marcus was quite the party host. He had the perfect basement for it, with a pool table, foosball table, bar area, and plenty of couches.

         “Go throw these in the bedrooms,” Marcus tossed Carlos a plastic bag.

         “Uh, is this necessary?” Carlos asked, face going red.

         Inside the bag were three giant boxes of condoms, two bulk-sized boxes of lube, and scented candles.

         “Oh yeah,” Marcus said, throwing cans of beer into a cooler. “No one gets pregnant or an STD on Vansten property.”

         “I meant are people hooking up this much?” Carlos snarked, tossing the contents of the plastic bag into a bedroom. Marcus gave him an ambivalent head waggle.

         “It depends on who shows up. I’d rather be safe than sorry, ya know?” he said.

         “I guess,” Carlos sighed, adjusting his hat. “Sorry, I’ve never gone to any real parties,”

         “Hey, it’s fine,” Marcus walked over to Carlos. “I know it’s weird, but trust me- it’ll be fun.”

         “If you say so,” Carlos said. Marcus looked at him for a second, then drew him into a bone-crushing hug.

         “Oh-oh my god, Marcus,” Carlos choked, laughing a little. “I’m fine. Please. You’re gonna get your weird-ass cologne all over this flannel.”

 

         A few hours later, Carlos was less drunk than anticipated, due to a previously undiscovered talent for beer pong.  

         “Unbelievable!” screamed Trish Hidge as Carlos sailed another ping pong ball into another of her cups. “You fuckin- you fucking slut!” She downed her booze, passing the empty cup to her partner Pamela Winchell.

         “It’s a matter of trajectory, Trish!” Carlos taunted, drinking his own can of beer. “Physics, calculus, aerodynamics!”

         “Mkay, my turn,” Rochelle said, hip-checking Carlos to the side. “Go find Steve, dumbass,”

         Carlos walked into the main area of the basement. He did a self evaluation. His vision was still fine, he didn’t seem to be weaving or having problems walking straight. He did feel somewhat tingly in his fingers, and his head was all floaty, however.

         “Conclusion: buzzed-ish,” Carlos said to a senior he didn’t know. The guy just looked at him and walked away. Carlos shrugged it off, looking around for Steve.

         Steve was nowhere to be found. Carlos looked all over the basement, excepting the locked bedroom with muffled moaning coming from it. That probably wasn’t Steve, he thought to himself as he went up the stairs to check the bathrooms. He was so focused on not tripping over a step that he didn’t notice the two figures barrelling down, and was knocked over.

         “Oh shit, sorry bro!” boomed a voice from above him. He was helped up by two beefy arms, painted bright green.

         “It’s alright, Earl,” Carlos said. “Nice costume.”

         Earl was decked out in head to toe green paint, bolts glued to the side of his neck, and shorts ripped off.

         “Thanks! And presenting, the man behind the monster!” he said with a flourish, bowing out of the way to reveal Cecil in a pair of short shorts, a labcoat, and not much else.

         “Oh, cool couple costume. Frankenstein and Frankenstein’s Monster,” Carlos said.

         “I told you so, Early!” Cecil whooped, punching Earl in the arm. “Frankenstein is the scientist!”

         “Alright, alright. What are you, Carlos?” Earl asked, slinging an arm around Cecil.

         “Uh, I’m a lumberjack.” Carlos said, adjusting his flannel. “Specifically, a whistle punk. It’s the only job I would have been able to have in a logging camp, due to me being- being- like super weak.”

         Earl and Cecil looked a little lost. Carlos felt his face going red. Always, with the talking and the references.

         “You know,” Cecil said in a low tone. “‘Punk’ used to be a term for a cute gay man in like, the 1940s or whatever.” He winked at Carlos. Earl looked sharply at Cecil. Carlos lurched a little.

         “Uh, cool,” he stammered. “Booze is that way, they’ve got a movie going over there, igottagofindsteve,” Carlos bolted past the pair back into the main area of the basement.

          Cecil Palmer had just come on to him. While he was somewhat sober. Carlos grabbed an unopened can of beer off of an end table and chugged it. That would be a bad idea later. Still, he needed something to calm him down. Just as he was contemplating whether to seek Cecil out or avoid him for the rest of his life, the door next to him swung open, nearly knocking him in the face. Out of the room came a giggling senior girl.

           “Thanks, Steve!” she said, blushing hard and fixing her dress.

           “Call me sometime, alright?” Steve Carlsberg slurred, wiping his mouth as he leaned against the doorframe. Carlos looked at him, head cocked to the side and mouth drawn in a tight line.

           “What?” Steve said, eyes focusing in and out. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game, Carlito!”

           As Carlos was preparing to tell Steve off, Cecil dragged Earl into the bedroom, slamming the door behind them. Carlos and Steve stood there for a second, until they heard a loud moan from Cecil.

           “God, let’s go get drunk,” Carlos said, taking Steve by the wrist.

           Carlos and Steve joined Rochelle and Marcus at the bar area for the rest of the night. People came and went, but Carlos was determined to have a good time with his friends.  

     

           He woke up the next morning on Marcus’s couch, with large chunks of the previous night missing from his memory.

           “Shit,” groaned Carlos as he sat up. His head felt tight, but not as throbbing as it probably should have.

           Strewn around the basement were what looked like hundreds of plastic cups, cans, napkins, and food. Another couch was turned upside down. Marcus was curled up on the other end of the sectional that Carlos had crashed on, and was still sleeping.

           Carlos rolled off the couch, realizing that his shirt was lying on the floor. He put it on but left it unbuttoned as he began to clean up.

           Marcus woke up about a half hour later to Carlos throwing a bag of garbage on top of him. They cleaned the basement together, comparing what they remembered of the previous night to piece together a story line. The conclusion was that after Cecil and Earl had shown up, Carlos, Steve, Rochelle and Marcus had won five consecutive games of flip-cup. After that, Steve had managed to get a ride home with the same girl he had shacked up with earlier. Rochelle sent Marcus a text video of Marcus and Carlos dancing on the bar, and after that? A total blank for the two of them.

           “Do you think we made any other mistakes last night?” Marcus asked, throwing the third garbage bag of party trash onto the couch.

           “Hey, if I didn’t lose my virginity while blackout drunk, I’ll call it a success,” Carlos snarked, pulling his toy axe out of the chandelier. “Help me fix the couch.”

           “Sure thing, but first you gotta get me a water or a cigarette,” Cecil Palmer said, stumbling out of one of the bedrooms.

           Carlos and Marcus stared. Cecil looked absolutely wrecked. His eyeliner was smudged beyond belief, his hair was sticking in all directions, and his eyes were completely bloodshot.

           “Uh. What happened to you?” Marcus asked, walking to the fridge to get him a water bottle.

           “I went to your party, didn’t I?” Cecil snapped. Carlos winced.

           “Sorry, I’ve just got the worst headache right now.” Cecil softened up. “I might have gone too far last night, I usually don’t pass out until I’m home.”

           “It’s fine, man. I’d rather have people sleep here than crash on the lawn,” Marcus handed Cecil some water. Cecil gulped it down, letting some trickle out of his mouth. Carlos tried not to think about that too hard.

           “I try not to drink and drive. Not when I was drinking like I was last night. Did Earl stick around?” Cecil looked at the other two.

           “Uhm, unless he slept in that room, no.” Carlos said.

           “Okay, good. Did a guy named Dave stay?” Cecil said.

           “Nope,” Marcus said. “I remember him leaving with a couple of other guys around 2.”

           “Did Nazr?” Cecil asked.

           Carlos and Marcus looked at each other, and shook their heads.

           “How about- oh shit, what was his name- he was wearing a tan jacket?”

           “No,” Carlos said, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Why? Were they supposed to wait for you?”

           “Not really,” Cecil sighed, taking a cigarette and lighter he had found on the floor. “I just- usually at least one sticks around after…”

           “After what?” Marcus asked, clueless. Cecil lit the cigarette.

           “I slept with them all.” he said, dragging on the cigarette. “Usually I end up with at least one cuddler.”

          Carlos stared open-mouthed at Cecil, who continued to smoke as if he had just commented on the weather.

          “You what?” he finally asked.

          “I slept with them all,” Cecil repeated. “It was a party, I was in a party mood.”

          Carlos stood flabbergasted. Four guys, one of which Cecil could barely remember.

          “Are you okay?” Carlos asked. Cecil looked up sharply.

          “Uh. I’m hungover, but otherwise fine? Why wouldn’t I be?” His eyes narrowed as he stared Carlos down. Carlos clamped his mouth shut.

          “Listen, thanks for letting me crash here,” Cecil sighed, standing up to leave. “I’m gonna head out, unless you guys need help with anything.” He stood with a hip cocked out, as if to dare them to ask for help.

          “Nope, I think we’re all good,” Marcus said. “Thanks for coming over.”

          “Alright, see you boys on Monday.” Cecil gave a wave, and sauntered up the stairs. Carlos and Marcus were left standing in the mostly-clean basement.

          “Did he actually sleep with all those guys?” Carlos said after he heard the front door slam shut.

          “Oh yeah,” Marcus said, nodding. “That’s not uncommon for him.”

          “Are you okay with him doing that in your house?” Carlos squeaked. Marcus shrugged.

          “It gets guys to show up. And I don’t think I could stop him at this point.”

          Carlos just shook his head. He couldn’t understand how someone could live like that. It made his skin crawl to think of Cecil being used like that, how no one even bothered to stay to help him out. It was disgusting, really. He was definitely more upset that not even Earl had bothered to stick around to make sure Cecil got home okay, but Cecil also should know better than to get drunk and sleep around like that. He could’ve had some self respect.

          But he did have self respect, a voice in the back of Carlos’s mind said. He’s not ashamed of it at all. Carlos sighed deeply, now walking out to his car from Marcus’s house. Cecil wasn’t ashamed at all about his actions. He didn’t even seem to feel bad that no one had stuck around for him. It was intoxicating in a way, Carlos realized as he drove home. Cecil’s complete confidence in himself and his sexual prowess made him more attractive, probably due to hormones, sociology, biology- the science was there, but Carlos was too hungover and too scared to really think about the science. The fear of feeling anything more than a base, triggered, reaction to someone terrified Carlos. Especially as it was someone who was obviously more successful and experienced than him in matters of- well, maybe not of the heart, but in the sack. Pulling into the driveway of the small, shoddy house his father had bought, Carlos made himself two promises: 

          One, to never drink that much again without heavy pre-game hydration.

          And two, to stay calm and professional around Cecil, even if he couldn’t stay away completely.


End file.
